


Ha-Ha-Haki

by FallinForAGuyFellDownFromTheSky



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Batjokes, Heavy Angst, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, That isn't so one-sided, hanahaki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 02:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14250807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallinForAGuyFellDownFromTheSky/pseuds/FallinForAGuyFellDownFromTheSky
Summary: It was called “Hanahaki”. It came from the Japanese words hana, meaning “flower” and hakimasu, meaning “to throw up”. And that about summed up what it did to a person.The Joker himself wasn’t all too concerned. He had thought himself safe. Safe from the disease of a one-sided romance.Until he wasn’t.





	Ha-Ha-Haki

It was called  _ “Hanahaki” _ . It came from the Japanese words  _ hana _ , meaning “flower” and  _ hakimasu _ , meaning “to throw up”. And that about summed up what it did to a person.

 

Everyone suspected Poison Ivy to be behind the sudden outbreak. After all, when people start randomly growing daisies in their lungs, who else do you think to blame? But said Plant Bitch was nowhere to be seen in the midst of the floral fury racking the city of Gotham.

She wasn’t gloating over her latest scheme, wasn’t making outrageous demands to the city officials, wasn’t selling the antidote off to the highest bidder, nothing.

 

Not that Joker minded. In fact, he doubted she had anything to do with it at all.

 

After Harley started coughing up petunias, he figured she  _ most likely _ wasn’t involved. And after she died with those same flower stalks growing from her throat, he knew for a fact she wasn’t. Joker was  _ pretty sure _ that any plan of Red’s didn’t involve a dead Harley Quinn.

The Joker himself wasn’t all too concerned. He had thought himself safe.

  
  


Safe from the disease of a one-sided romance.

  
  


Until he wasn’t.

 

How Hanahaki worked was that it made a person start growing flowers in their lungs. Flowers grown from unrequited love. It would start out small, maybe a few petals at a time, until eventually entire flowers would force their way out of the poor saps mouth and from there it wasn’t long until the person died with a full bouquet sprouting from their corpse.

Key words there:  _ unrequited love. _

 

Meaning a one-sided love. A love that was not returned. The sort of pathetic relationship where one person was hopelessly in love with the other and the other couldn’t care less.

 

It made sense that Harley fell victim to it. The only surprising thing was how long it took for her to show signs. Perhaps she had been hiding it, trying to avoid the truth.

 

But Joker...Joker was not supposed to be this…

 

This…

 

_ Weak. _

 

The goddamn JOKER, the Clown Prince of Crime, was not supposed to the type of man who got beaten by FUCKING WEEDS! He was not supposed to be dying of a broken heart, of all things. Harley, he understood. The poor losers who died by the boatload in February, he understood. The celebrity sad-sacks who were found days after they’d kicked the bucket, hiding the shame of their rejection, he understood.

 

Not him.

 

NOT HIM.

 

This was not how things were supposed to be.

Because he’d always thought that what he and Batman had was mutual. He’d always thought that it had gone both ways for the both of them. They needed each other. Joker was an unstoppable force of chaos, Batman was the immovable embodiment of justice. Joker wore fine flamboyant suits in all the colors of the rainbow, although he had a real penchant for purple, and Batman was dressed in all black in armor. The Clown Prince and his Dark Knight. They completed each other. They were the perfect halves of the one great truth of the world. A beautiful juxtaposition contradicting itself as it attempted to understand what was simple an inside joke you just had to be there for.

 

They  _ needed  _ each other.

 

As Joker spewed out yet another of the growing number of roses in a variety of colors, they mocked him with their presence. A fatal reminder that apparently, they did not.

 

_ He  _ did. He alone.

 

He became aware of this roughly a month ago. During his last encounter with the caped crusader himself. He still wasn’t sure what he did  _ wrong _ . What it was that was apparently too far this time. The Bat’s words still rung in his ear, even now.

 

_ You mean nothing to me, Joker. _

 

It just...it was painful to even think about. How  _ easily  _ it rolled off the flying rodent’s tongue. How he could say it with such finality. Like he really meant it.

 

Because, maybe, he  _ did  _ mean it.

 

Joker was nothing to him, while he was everything to Joker. It was such cruel and agonizing irony, Joker had to laugh at it. Had to. Because the alternative was crying and he refused to cry over Batman. Refused to cry in general. Harley had been one of the select few who had ever seen him cry, and now she was dead. Dead by the same illness that was now draining his own existence.

 

He laughed, and spurted out a few more petals for good measure.

 

Sadly, it seemed that tonight would finally be his long-awaited curtain call. He wasn’t ready for it, not even close, but he had known it would come to this. Even before that first blue petal fell from his ruby red lips, he’d known that eventually he was going to take his final bow. He had always hoped he would die at the hands of the Batman, but not like this. Not like this.

 

Possibly the most sickening thing about his situation was that he didn’t necessarily  _ have  _ to suffer through it.

There were two known ways to cure oneself of Hanahaki. Get the other person to accept your feelings, or get the infernal flowers surgically removed. The surgery had one catch however; if you went through with it, you would lose all your feelings of love towards the one who made you sick in the first place.

 

Joker used to think that all those poor lonely souls must’ve been such idiots to not simply go through with the surgery. Prioritizing such ludicrous feelings over your own life? Puh-lease! Harley was as dumb as a brick, he knew  _ she’d  _ never go through with it, but really?  _ All  _ these people were too stupid to just take their rejection and move on with their lives? Bloody fools.

 

Of course, to the Joker, losing his feelings towards his Bat was NOT an option.

 

There was simply no way he could even  _ think  _ of abandoning what he felt! It was too ingrained in who he was! Who would he be without them? How would he continue? Where would he go? What was there for him to do if he didn’t have this all-encompassing obsession driving him? Would he even still be  _ The Joker _ without them?  _ Could  _ he be? What was the Joker without the Bat?

 

He didn’t know, and it terrified him to try and imagine himself without his feelings towards his Bat. Even though the Bat evidently was not his.

 

Something between a laugh and a sob fell from his red-stained lips, and he was immensely glad that there was no one left to hear it. He’d killed every member of his crew about a week ago, along with anyone who happened to wander in. The apartment he’d used as a hideout on and off again for so many years was empty of life and laughter.

Save for him, and he wasn’t going to stick around for much longer.

 

If even after all these years and so much history between the two of them, Bats felt nothing, than there was nothing the Joker could do to change him now. There was no hope for him, not even his own personal knight in shining armor could save him from his fate.

He’d fought it on his own for as long as he could. Tried to choke down every petal and bud that forced its way out of his mouth. Did everything possible to make his body the least habitable place for flowers to bloom. His body was wreck and he felt exhausted. The Joker was tired. Tired, for once, of fighting against the Bat.

 

If his own beloved Batsy condemned him to this fate, then he would accept it.

 

Maybe Batman didn’t need him, but he sure as hell needed Batman.

 

He felt it deep in his bones, in the deep core of his body, maybe even in his very soul if a man such as him still had such a thing. He  _ needed  _ him. It far surpassed the mere wants of the body and mind. It was a need that kept him alive, kept him waking up and eating and allowing himself to heal every now and again. As long as he got to play with his dear old Batsy, he could keep living.

Now he couldn’t. He didn’t want to see him. Didn’t want Batman to see him. Not like this. He couldn’t see him like this. Batman’s last memory of the Joker was NOT going to be of him gagging on roses because he was stupid enough to let his broken heart kill him rather than stop on loving him.

 

Joker felt tears run down his chalk-white face. He was really going to allow himself to die because living without loving the Batman was a life he couldn’t handle. He felt sick. Both with himself and with the plants cutting off his oxygen.

 

It was entering its final stages now, he could feel it. The flowers had filled up his lungs and were sprouting all through his airways and trachea. Soon, they would block his throat completely and he would suffocate. Odd, how the mere fact that flowers were growing inside of him wasn’t the thing that was actually going to kill him.

 

The fact that they were roses too seemed a mean-spirited slap in the face. Roses were a common symbol of love, of devotion. They were the flower you got your date, the flower you gave on special occasions to your significant other, the flower you left on the grave of your loved one.

 

It would be the flower that adorned his cold, dead body.

 

Harley had been puking petunias. He’d seen the whole florist’s shop pour out of the city; lilies, daisies, violets, carnations, sunflowers, baby’s breath, even ones he couldn’t name came spilling out of the heartbroken citizens of Gotham City in every color imaginable.

In the Joker’s case, he’d gotten stuck with roses. They too came in many various shades; purple, yellow, green, orange, white, red, blue, even some black roses, of which he giggled at until the mere sight of them was sickening. He’d ripped them apart and hadn’t vomited anything black since.

 

Now, though, at the end of it all, he’d been spitting out blue roses.

 

He held the little thing in his hand, dragging himself into the moonlight shining through cracked windows to get a better look at it. It was a deep but not overly dark shade of blue. Not quite the soft caressing shade of a clear blue sky, more akin to the dark blue of the raging ocean as it through you around in your insignificance.

 

Then it hit Joker, this was the exact same shade of blue as Batman’s eyes.

 

He chuckled once. Then once more. Then it became an onslaught of full-blown cackling as the roses fell from his open mouth still, the disease racking his poor respiratory system and making it harder and harder to breathe. Catching his breath was an impossibility, and he no longer cared.

This was how it was going to end, and the hand of the Bat after all, and with nothing else but the Bat on his mind as he shuffled off this dreadful mortal coil and took his final bow before leaving the stage.

 

The Joker punched the window in his frenzy, not caring anymore about the glass now stuck in his hand. He was on his deathbed, a deathbed that would double as a flowerbed much to the surprise of everyone, so who cared about pesky things like his hands? His entire body was drained of its energy and sense of purpose, he supposed it was finally ready to embrace his release.

Still laughing maniacally to himself, he looked out at the moonlit skyline of the city. It was horrendous but he’d always loved it, for it was the city of him and his Bat. Now, it would be just the Bat. Perhaps the Batman would be happier this way. With The Joker gone, he could rest easy for his beloved city, could he not? The city that was more important to him than the Joker could ever hope to be.

 

The Joker choked on one of those roses, when he saw the familiar silhouette running across the rooftops.

 

Straight.

 

To.

 

Him.

 

No. No no no no no n.O. NonononononONONo nOnONonOnoNonoNoNOn OnoNoNoNonONO!N!O!!! NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!!!!!!!

 

Batman could NOT seem him like this! Joker couldn’t take the thought of Batman actually seeing him in his final moments! Not if  _ this  _ was how it was ending! He had always wanted to die at the hands of the Bat, but he didn’t want Batman to actually seeing him like this! He was...he was too pathetic! This wasn’t how Joker wanted Batman to remember him! He didn’t want his final moments to be of the Bat’s pitiful expression looking down at him. He didn’t want his pity!

 

The Joker was in no shape to try and flee. He was too weakened by Hanahaki and poor health choices made trying to slow it down. Nothing had stopped it, it was remarkable he had lasted a month at all. But Joker felt nothing but despair at the realization that he could do nothing as the Bat raced towards his shameful display.

 

He didn’t want any of this. Not one bit.

  
  


\--------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


The Batman crashed through the balcony windows a few seconds later. To the sight of Joker with a bloodied hand full of glass and blue rose petals falling from his lips. Not to mention the overpowering scent of roses that permeated the entirety of the room. It seemed like everywhere had become overrun by the foul flowers, like Joker had shut himself in this one room and allowed everything that fell from his lips to just remain.

 

Batman felt fear run through his veins. Just how long had this being going on? Joker had been quiet, no sign of anything at all for almost an entire month, and it had been driving Batman to the point of insanity trying to figure out what happened to him.

 

Why had he said that? Why had he told the Joker he meant  _ nothing  _ to him?

 

Arriving, finally standing before the man himself, Batman’s worst fears were confirmed. Joker looked terrible, his breathing was ragged and labored, the smell of roses emanated from the clown himself and that was just the physical aspects of the man. This whole atmosphere dripped with misery and resigned hopelessness. The place of a man who had given up.

 

_ What had he done? _

 

“Joker,” Batman said, trying in vain to keep his voice steady. “Joker, what-”

 

A fit of coughs interrupted the vigilante. Along with more blue roses that made his blood run cold. He was frozen in terror at the sight.

 

“B-Bats,” the clown managed to get out after the coughs subsided a bit. Breathing alone was clearly a struggle, yet he still tried to speak. “H...Hi.”

 

That almost broke the Batman into his own fit of laughter and tears. He breaks in to find the man on the brink of death, and the first words out of his mouth are “Hi”.

Batman broke out of his frozen trance and rushed to the dying man. He held him by the shoulders and tried to look him in the eyes. They were unfocused and hazy, he didn’t have much time left. The life was leaving him bit by bit, Batman could see it going right before him.

 

_ No, no no goddamn it no! Not like this! I didn’t...I didn’t mean- _

 

“Hey, hey, Joker look at me.” The Dark Knight said, trying desperately to keep the man conscious for as long as possible. He didn’t know if there was anything he could do, the Joker was so far gone already, but he had to try.

He couldn’t stand the thought of losing The Joker.

 

The green-haired man raised his head a bit, trying to look at the face of the vigilante. Batman could see the reluctancy in his eyes, he hadn’t wanted Batman to see this. He never wanted to show any sort of weakness, and here he was puking out a whole florists shop because he was convinced Batman didn’t need him.

 

_ No, no, Joker you’re so wrong so wrong you don’t even know. _

 

“Joker, I’m…” Even now, looking at him as he was dying, seeing the strain clear on his face as he began to let go, Batman struggled to get the words out. The Joker was  _ dying _ , dying  _ because of him _ , and he still couldn’t just force the words out of his mouth out of some stupid pride! What was wrong with him!?

This was THE JOKER. He was going to DIE right in front of him.

 

“Save...it…” Joker wheezed out. It was getting harder and harder for him to force the words out in between the flowers. Soon, he’d be gone. Gone forever. “Don’t...want...p-pity…”

 

Pity? Is that what he thought? That Batman was taking pity on him?

 

“No, no no no Joker I’m...I’m sorry.” Batman said, finally saying. Even though that wasn’t enough. Nowhere near enough. An apology wasn’t enough to bring a man back from the brink of death.

 

Joker’s head bobbed lower, he was losing the little bit of strength necessary to do so much as support his head. His body was going limp, slouching in the chair he’d been in for god knows how long. How long had he been here, waiting out his final days in solitude?

 

“Joker! Joker!” Batman shook him a bit, trying to rouse him. The Joker was fading away, slipping from the grip of the caped crusader. His iron fists clenched helplessly onto his arms as if he could hold the man’s spirit here with brute strength. Like he could physically hold him here and stop his passing.

Ridiculous. Pointless.

 

All his fault.

 

The Batman was running out of options. What could he do? There was nothing he could say that would fix this. Even if there was, Joker might not stay alive long enough to hear it. He was dying bit by bit right before him and Batman couldn’t take it.

Joker himself didn’t seem to be handling it any better. Batman caught a single tear spill down his face, the man himself to weak to turn away in shame, but the Dark Knight could still tell. Usually the man was an enigma, a puzzle Batman always struggled to make sense of, but there were rare moments when Batman caught the mask of the Joker slip and he caught a glimpse of the man himself.

Because that’s what Joker was, the exact same as Batman. A human, with the same faults of any other.

 

Now, he could see all the shame and embarrassment on the Joker’s face. Batman had caused him heartache even in his final moments. He’d stayed in this place, watching himself die, for weeks. He obviously had wanted to be alone. Batman couldn’t even allow him a solitary passing in private.

 

He had to do  _ something _ .

 

If the Joker was going to die, Batman wasn’t no regrets. He wouldn’t live the rest of his own (admittedly short) life with the thought that there anything he could’ve done differently to save the Joker. He was going to do anything if there was even a slight chance that he could set things right between them.

If the man was doomed to die, then there was no harm at all in what he was about to do.

 

Batman released his hold on his archenemy, and removed his cowl. He let it fall to the floor among the roses, making a loud hollow sound against the wood floor.

Joker saw it, he knew he saw it, and made one more attempt to raise his head. It wasn’t going well, he had nearly nothing left to drive himself to keep on pushing his body to live. It seemed like Joker was going to die no matter what Batman did at this point.

No, no he wouldn’t let it end like this.

 

Batman took the Joker’s face in his gauntleted hands and raised him up to look him in the eyes. For the first time, without the mask.

 

The Joker look on in tired confusion at the face of Bruce Wayne. His eyebrows knit together as he tried to decipher what this could possibly mean. Why would the Batman reveal his identity? Why show his face to him now? Because Joker was dying? Because there was no risk in sharing a secret with a dead man? Was that all it was?

 

Joker’s expression seemed to say as much. The sad and almost apologetic look in his eyes as he gazed on the face of his obsession seemed to speak to Bruce’s very soul.

  
  


_ You just feel guilty, _ It said.

  
  


“Joker,” Bruce said, vowing that there was nothing he wouldn’t do if it meant saving the life of this man. He had no idea what he would do if he were suddenly gone. How could he have been so careless? It was all his fault. Joker was dying because he had to go and crush his heart with his lies.

  
  


_ You mean everything to me. _

  
  


“I love you.” He whispered as he clumsily crashed their lips together.

 

He could taste the smeared lipstick, and flowers were still forcing their way out of his trachea but Bruce didn’t care. He would take every flower Joker had in his lungs and swallow them himself. He would take this sickness from him and put it in his own body if that’s what it took to keep him alive.

He wanted to kiss him deeper. Joker offered no resistance, Bruce hoped that didn’t mean he had already passed on and left him kissing a corpse in the desperate hope that he could still save him in the end. He tilted Joker’s head, trying to find some magic angle, some way of kissing him that would breathe life back into his greatest enemy.

He slipped his tongue into the Joker’s mouth, feeling a dry space that was filling up with petals and buds and still he couldn’t bear to pull back. He didn’t care if Joker really way dead at this point or if he had failed Bruce just wanted to do one last thing that maybe showed him in the end how much he really meant to him.

 

Bruce could feel himself crying. Even through the kiss, his own mouth choked out sobs and cries of anguish as he refused to let go of the man in his arms. He kept on kissing him, refusing to break contact, refusing to stop. As if Joker could come back to life just because he wanted it badly enough.

There was nothing more he could do. The man he loved was gone forever, because he, in all his stupidity, couldn’t face up to it until it was too late.

 

Then, he felt some movement from his lost love’s body.

 

He felt a dry tongue move slightly against his own. Felt cracked lips press back against him. Felt a body struggling to move itself, trying to get closer.

Bruce opened his eyes, hoping to every god he could think of that he wasn’t just imagining these sensations.

 

There was the Joker, eyes heavily lidded and body still sluggish but still very much alive. Coughing out what were hopefully the last roses either of them would ever see in their lives. Moving on his own, his strength returning to him as the effects of the sickness began to wear off.

Joker pulled himself closer, and kissed Bruce himself. Bruce was so lost in bliss, so relieved at the feeling of the clowns lips on his own, kissing him with passion all their own. That sweet, sinful, and all-around taste of  _ Joker _ on his tongue the best thing he’d ever had in his mouth.

 

Joker was the first to pull away. Still tired from suffering the effects of Hanahaki for so long, but he was a fighter. He would be able to come back from this.

He didn’t look in Bruce’s eyes for a few seconds. Focusing instead on his lips and lower jaw. The only thing he’d ever seen of Batman’s face for so long.

 

“Did...did you...mean it?” He asked in a voice so tired and low it almost wasn’t his own. “You... _ love me _ ?”

 

“Yes,” Bruce said immediately. “I love you more than anything else in the world. You mean everything to me. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry about everything. I’m sorry I put you through…” His voice trailed off.

 

“I love you too, Batsy,” Joker said in that said small voice. “But, I guess you could already tell...ha ha…”

 

And Bruce began laughing too. Small, relieved, gasping laughs that seemed to drain the rest of his tension and energy away. Leaving him tired and leaning against a clown who’d just come back from the doors of death.

Bruce didn’t know where the bedroom was in this place, or if it even had a bedroom, but he knew he didn’t want Joker spending another second in that chair.

 

Bruce hauled himself to his feet, weary but very much willing to be the strong one for the both of them, and lifted up Joker, as he had done many times over the years.

Although he was much gentler now. He picked him up bridal-style, careful to be delicate with him. Not wanting to risk anymore harm coming to his beloved jester.

 

“Is there anything that passes for a bed here?” He asked with a smirk.

“Second door on the right,” Joker said, leaning in to rest his head on the Batsuits heavily armored chestplate.

 

Bruce carried him to the small dingy room he’s probably shared with Harley at some point and set him down gently before stripping off the tactical armor to join him.

Joker cuddled up to him as soon as they were both settled in comfortably. Bruce supposed this was where he’d be spending the night. He should really call Alfred and tell him not to worry, but for some reason things like that seemed far away right now. It could wait. All that mattered right now was the man in his arms.

They were laying together for awhile, Bruce couldn’t say how long, before one of them broke the silence.

 

It was Joker, he asked “So what happens now?”

 

He sounded a bit better. He could probably use a few glasses of water. That too, however, felt like it could wait. Bruce’s first priority was keeping him in bed, where it was safe.

But that was a legitimate question. What would they do now? Where would they go from here?

 

“I don’t know,” Bruce said, kissing Joker’s forehead. He began to stroke the green curls from the man’s face, hopefully lulling him into a much deserved peaceful rest.

 

It was nice to have his body so near, without the fear that it was wrong to want to be with the man in this was. His thin frame fit with Bruce’s so perfectly, like they were made for each other on a molecular level. Or, perhaps chemical. Wouldn’t that be one for the ages.

 

“Are..are we okay?” Bruce asked, not really caring if his (what were they to each other now) companion actually answered him.

 

Joker nestled closer, making Bruce feel at easy just with his presence.

 

“Yeah, we’re okay.”


End file.
